


Give My Soul, Sing It Free Across The Sea

by arysani



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Romantic Fluff, Sindarin, Tolkien Elves - Freeform, Unresolved Romantic Tension, elves live so long ok, sorry no abrahamic chastity rules here, widower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28553016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysani/pseuds/arysani
Summary: With such long lives, there is no rush. Time keeps ticking on, the world changes, but some things remain the same.(title from Bat for Lashes "Sleep Alone")
Relationships: Tauriel (Hobbit Movies) & Thranduil (Tolkien), Tauriel (Hobbit Movies)/Thranduil (Tolkien)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Give My Soul, Sing It Free Across The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> It's been awhile (critter cue) since I've written fanfiction. Well, published it. I am late to this ship, and I am wholeheartedly IN. IT. This got away from me. There is a great deal of Sindarin elvish in here, which I think is clear enough from context, but I have provided translations at the end, so as to not interrupt the flow.

He woke slowly - feeling more rested than he had in… centuries. Inhaling deeply, his eyes flew open, pinpointing the strange smell first, and then, stranger still, a hand. A hand on his abdomen. Breath exhaled against his ribs. Frozen, his eyes dipped to the side and the evening came flooding back.

_ It was nothing untoward, the way they enjoyed each other’s company - she was Captain of his Guard once, and though he could not allow her to keep that role after her open defiance of his order in front of his warriors, he did not exile her as some suggested. As he had previously desired. The departure of his son, though expected (so soon?) was enough change. He needed some sense of… normalcy. _

_ She was away for long stretches of time - he made her his eyes outside of Mirkwood - at first, watching the new dwarf kingdom of Erebor, and then reconnaissance Dol Guldur and Gundabad. She communicated with his son often, and though he knew their stilted parting after the battle at Erebor was on better terms than he could have hoped, he received no word of him but through her. _

_ The War of the Ring cost him much. Lives of his people. Nearly his life, more than once - the poisons crafted by wizardry and orc and goblin were stronger than he cared to admit. But his son survived, he had heard. And she brought word of him to her king - still travelling, this time in the company of a dwarf. Unable to attend the wedding of Elrond’s daughter and her half-mortal king himself, he did meet with Elrond, and Galadriel, Gandalf, even Bilbo before they boarded the ships sailing for the West. He was not ready, he told them, and he was not certain he ever would be. _

_ “I have committed too many of my millennia to Middle-Earth. I doubt I could leave it willingly.” _

_ Elrond smiled with just the corner of his mouth. “Yes, I see, you do hate these mortals terribly, to continue to subject them to your presence.” _

_ Thranduil just glared at him sidelong. _

_ “We will be waiting for you, old friend,” Elrond offered, a hand briefly touching the lower back of the king as he walked away, and Thranduil merely snorted. _

_ “What shall I tell her, should our paths cross?” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “She knows.” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Does she? Why  _ _ do _ _ you stay? Our time here is ending, mellon nîn.” _

_ “It has not ended yet, and I do not trust the mortals not to completely destroy this world we have been given.” _

_ Galadriel smiled sadly and reached up to his face, and though she was of a good height, he still had to lean down to press his forehead to hers. _

_ “You have always been thus,” she paused. “Stubborn as a mountain. Strong as the trees.” Thranduil almost smiled, but instead just sighed, allowing her closeness. It had been a very long time since he had felt such affection, and she seemed to know it. She took his head in her hands and tilted it towards her, pressing her lips between his brows. _

_ “Love is never the same twice,” she offered, and stepped away with a small smile, leaving him thoughtful. It was well-known she had a gift for foresight and prophecy, even in the smallest moments. The word made him think of his wife; his son. _

_ Celeborn was last, and brooked no refusal of a full-bodied embrace. He was one of the only elves left in the world who could rival Thranduil in height, though he was older than him by a generation. _

_ “Do not allow yourself to Fade here, Elvelloneth. There is much left for you to yet learn.” _

_ Thranduil embraced Celeborn briefly before backing out of the other man’s arms. “As I told your hervess, I alone stand against the tide of the changes men seek to bring here. I will join you soon enough - it is doubtful I could stand them for long without others to share in my displeasure.” _

_ Celeborn let out a short laugh. “Indeed, Elvelloneth, indeed.” With a last squeeze of his shoulder, the lord of Lothlorien followed his wife onto the ferry. Thranduil nodded at them, but turned away before there was any more opportunity to make a spectacle. If there was one thing he did not enjoy, it was a spectacle. It was enough that each of them had shown all gathered that they were permitted liberties with the elvenking, he would not permit further indignities. _

They sailed nigh-on a century ago - it seemed strange that King Elassar still ruled a united kingdom, save for land skirmishes between men that did not concern him. His son wrote, more often than he ever had, making it clear he would not return to take his father’s place in the fullness of time. It was not so blunt as that, but there were plenty of signs, and he tried not to despair of his kingdom, finally shedding the darkness of an age, being without a leader when he himself sailed West. It was only a matter of time. It was, indeed, the time of Men.

She had returned two days ago, made her report, and, like the old friends they had become, she dined with him after she made herself comfortable. She told him what she had heard of King Elassar, his wife Arwen, daughter of Elrond, and his son, Eldarion, who had grown to be a fine man, and well-respected by his peers. She offered, between bites of a fruit tart, that perhaps it would be wise to meet with Eldarion in Annúminas.

It was the letter she brought with her, from his son, that distracted him and made her ordinarily engaging conversation just a hum in the background.

“My Lord?”

“Hm?”

She smiled thinly. “Should I leave you to your contemplation?”

“Hm? No, no,  _ goheno _ ,  _ mellon nîn. _ My mind is elsewhere,” he waved his hand away and returned her thin smile with one of his own.

“Is it your letter?” She nodded towards the folded parchment, still held lightly in his right hand. He looks down at it and back up at her.

“Do you know its contents?”

“I have my suspicions,” she offers softly.

“Did he speak to you of it?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Hm.”

“Do you… wish to be alone, my lord?”

He gave her a watery smile. “No,” he paused, and looked up at her again. “Peditham hi sui vellyn?”

“Of course,” she gave him a soft smile and risked a gesture she would want, but could never tell with him - reaching one hand toward him and resting her fingers atop his. He looked down and closed his fingers around her fingertips, squeezing once. “I intended to stay here in this age of Men,” he smiled briefly, “let them pry the Greenwood from my corpse.” His thumb strokes her hand. “But if my son sails West, what is there left for me here?”

“I know  _ many _ families that do not wish to sail. Here, and elsewhere across the land. They will give up their immortality when the time comes, but until then, they wish to continue their lives as they have,” she leaned towards him, holding onto his fingers, as though begging him to reconsider his life worth living.

He tilted his head and gave her a knowing look - one that was always followed by biting sarcasm or unkind words, and she tried to pull her hand away in anticipation of being scolded, but he turned his hand up and kept hers, and placed his other on top, sandwiching her hand between his

  
“Tauriel. Do you think to convince me that they need a king? The elves of Rivendell, of Lothlorien, and further abroad, they are living quite well without their leaders this century past. Those that still live, that is. I will not pack my bags tomorrow. My son is merely considering it. He has seen so much in this world of Men, and his dearest friends are reaching the end of their mortal lives. He has spent so little of his life amongst them, in the grand scheme of things, but their lives have… affected him a great deal.”

“As I have said,” she offered softly, “the brevity of their lives is what makes them so easy to like. You were a great fan of Bard, when he was king in Laketown.”

“Yes, well,” Thranduil cleared his throat, and pulled his hands from hers, rising. “I do not suppose you would join me for a drink?”

“It is getting on in hours.”

“As you wish,” he nodded, and turned to leave.

“I did not say no,” she offered with a quirk of her lips in a brief smile. “I have not had good elven wine in months, I certainly will not turn it down when it is offered.”

He nodded and gestured for her to precede him, though they quickly found themselves walking side by side through corridors and stairwells, discussing less important matters. When they reached his rooms, he again offered for her to precede him, closing the chamber door and gesturing to the small table for her to sit while he poured. He removed his heavy outer robe since he was no longer to be seen by any eye but hers, and she had seen his mangled body in far less than breeches and a tunic.

She nodded her thanks as she took the goblet from him, and he sat across from her, his long legs crossed as he leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh, tipping his head back and closing his eyes briefly.

“I am old, Tauriel,” he offered.

She snorted as she took a sip of the wine, the sweetness coating her tongue as the warmth of it continued down her throat. “As are we all, my lord.”

He sighed again. “My son is nearing his 4th millennium, I, my 6th. Is it truly worth my pride to continue to outlast Men and every other mortal when none left remember our greatness?”

“How are they to recall it without being given stories to tell their young?”

His head tipped back towards her, an eyebrow raised and half a smile on his face. “Are you to go from village to village, educating Men on the glories of the Sindar?”

She smirked as she took another sip. “The Sylvan, perhaps.”

He laughed, and it took concentration to not laugh with him. He so rarely laughed, and she wanted to savor it. She watched his eyes crinkle and his shoulders shake, and if she hadn’t been in love with him for half a century, the sight of him laughing would certainly have softened her emotions with something like love.

“And in the histories of men, only the Sylvan elves survive. And we all become dark haired and willowy, full of intensity and fueled by our passions.”

She widened her eyes, giving him an incredulous look. “And is that how you see us, my lord? Intense and passionate?”

“Are you not? Has there been a single moment in all of our acquaintance when you have blithely accepted anything you disagree with in the slightest?”

She flushed a little, frowning, unsure of the terrain - they had argued plenty over the centuries, millenia, even, but one was never on safe ground when arguing with a king, a Sindarian king at that.

“Pedin i phith in aníron, a nin ú-cheniathog.”

“My lord?”

“It was a compliment, Tauriel. And please, no more ‘my lord’. My nerves tense at the very words as though I will be called on to make a decision this very second,” he waved at the idea tiredly.

“What… shall I call you then?”

“Is my given name not sufficient?” the tiny teasing smile was back.

“I… I do not believe I have ever been given leave to use it.”

He cocked his head at her, as though she were slow. “Tauriel.”

“Y-yes?”

“Do you truly believe that in all this time that we have been… close, sharing meals and conversation, that I have thought of you as a subject and not as Tauriel?” She frowned and he sighed and stood. “Come,” he beckoned her to follow him into his sleeping chamber, and she hesitated at the threshold, watching him as he knelt at the chest at the foot of his bed.

Opening it, he gently set aside one silk-wrapped item, and then another, and pulled from the depths a long wrapped object that she could only believe to be a weapon. A sword, perhaps.

“Come here.”

Despite the talk of friendship and equality, he was still her king, and she obeyed.

“This,” he set the bundle in her hands, and proceeded to slowly reveal it - untying the ribbon that held it, letting the layers of water silk be unwrapped one at a time, “was my wife’s.” At the word, she almost dropped it and he saw the twitch, reaching out his hand to just under hers, to steady her. “She was an incredible warrior, with a mind for strategy. I learned much from her before we ever felt love for one another. She was kind, but firm, and had a laugh that no one could resist.” The last of the water silk fell, revealing a bow carved of dark wood, etched with spell runes, some of which she had never seen and could not understand, inlaid in places with a fine, weathered ivory, and though unstrung, a finely crafted pair of strings lay with it. Thranduil’s fingers danced lightly over it. “She crafted this herself. Spelled it herself. And fought with it at her side for many millennia.”

“It is… magnificent.”

“It is yours.”

“ _ What _ ?!”

“She would have never wished it to lay in a chest, unused. It is a weapon, meant to protect our people.”

“I… I cannot, my… Thranduil. You know I could not,” she shook her head, her hands now trembling as they held the bow.”

“It is called Av'osto.”

“Fearless?” she whispered, looking down at it and back up at him as he stared at it, tracing the curves of it with delicate fingers.

He nodded once. “She said taking a life must have purpose, and you must not doubt yourself in the taking, else your aim will falter. It is a warrior’s weapon, and she died a warrior, Tauriel. One thing we never saw eye to eye on was the idea that our lives be preserved in crystalline perfection.” His voice softened. “Our weapons enshrined, our memories sung until the end of time, our… lovers doomed to follow each other into the West,” he finished softly. “She said I had a son to raise, a kingdom to rule, and… a whole life left to live… were she to perish. I… promised her, though I did not want to, and I have… I have spent the last three thousand years, half my life, keeping that promise. I have been thinking of gifting you this bow for some time. The one I destroyed that day… I was very angry with you,” he didn’t look up.

“I know,” she replied softly.

“I should have given this to you some time ago.”

“My…” she just stopped, looking down and then back up to meet his eyes. “Why?”

“You are an incredible warrior, Tauriel. You have brought honor to us as a people, and to me, as your king. I should have rewarded you long-past now, but… I struggled. Specifically, I struggled in giving my wife’s weapon to you.”

She was observing him carefully, and saw his face contort briefly several times, watched his eyes water, and he did not blink them back, merely allowing them to fall, one splashing against the water silk. She opened her mouth and he seemed to sense it, reaching up his hands to hers, and taking the silk and the bow from her, and setting it back in the chest before turning and taking her hands in his own. She blushed, discomfited by… everything. His thumbs stroked her palms, the calluses on her thumbs.

“I struggled because it felt… disloyal.”

“You do not-” she began.

“Please. Allow me to speak. Words of this nature are not easy for me, even after all this time.”

She winced, and pulled her hands gently from his and turned away from him, rubbing her forehead, and then back to him. “Why. Why me. I was not good enough for your son, but you-” she was starting to become angry, and tears gathered in her eyes as she gritted her teeth. “What are you  _ doing _ ?! Do you think… do you think to confess some sort of feeling for me? Friendship, yes, I believe that we have crossed the line from king,” she gestured towards him, “and captain,” she touched her own chest, “but  _ why are you doing this _ ?” The tears fell quickly, and she began to cry in earnest, and her body wanted to just… collapse onto the floor, but she was swept into an embrace, her face pressed against soft, embroidered silk, tears soaking into it as a hand gently stroked her hair, an arm holding her tight against him. She gripped his tunic at the back in two fists, unable to stop crying.

“Why,” she asked. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He continued to stroke her hair, making soft shushing noises, and she felt his lips press against the crown of her head, and she was certain he laid his cheek upon her head next, felt the shushing sounds against her hair and her scalp.

She felt him exhale, his chest filling and emptying under her cheek. “I did believe my son held a certain regard for you that, were it allowed to continue, might blossom into something more. And I… I had… cared for you far longer than he had, and I was… angry. Angry at myself, and I took it out on the both of you. It was unfair of me, and I apologized to him some time ago, but apologizing to you involved… more explanation than I was willing to give.”

He continued to stroke her hair, and her fists gripping his tunic eventually relaxed, and she slowly wrapped her arms around him, burrowing into his chest as he spoke, feeling the reverberations of his words against her cheek.

“We are not meant to love again. For a people so long-lived, we are not like mortals, choosing affection hither and thither. For us, it is… lasting. I loved my wife for as long as was permitted us, as fully as I am capable. For a very long time, I did not believe myself capable of such depth of feeling ever again. I love my son, and he reminds me of his mother in many ways. It drove us apart, though I was never able to speak on it, as he grew more and more like her, despite having so little of her in his life. There has been… an emptiness in me. I put aside all thought of caring for another as though it were an insult for my mind to even touch upon it. I have been… hard. Distant. And when you came to us, a child, I saw in you a fierceness that I had loved in her, and I refused to acknowledge when that changed. It felt… wrong. It felt a betrayal. I could not stand in the way of your rapid rise, and I allowed you to think terrible things in an effort to keep you at a distance. And it has worked. Too well,” he ended softly.

They stood like that for several minutes as her crying ceased, her tears dried. She pulled away to look up at him.

“How long?”

“How long?” he repeated.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“In truth? Since your victory at the archery contest the summer you became my guard captain.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You have felt something for me for that long? It has been… it has been centuries. All this time?” She shook her head a little, still unable to piece it together, as though the last parts of the puzzle would not fit and she had to keep rearranging them.

“I am not certain if you are aware, but I can be quite stubborn when I set my mind to it.”

She let out a soft huff of a laugh, and he gave her a small smile. “I have given you much to think about. The letter from Legolas, it… it made me feel as though I too should tie up my loose ends. Even if you do not feel the same, I wished you to know my feelings.” He reached up and with both hands tucked her hair behind her ears, and she felt the metal from his rings against her face.

“For me, it was the days after his death,” she looked slightly guilty. “I felt something for him, and had we the time, I think it would have been love. You said it was real, and I saw you then in a way I have not been able to put aside.” He gave her a soft look, his lips quirking up in a sad smile.

“That was when I realized I could no longer tell myself what I felt would pass.”

“Before that, of course I…” she trailed off, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Well.”

“Well?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head quickly, dismissively. “It does not matter.”

“It matters to me,” his eyes were dancing now, though they still were red-rimmed with shed tears. “Tell me.”

“You are not unaware of your beauty.”

“And?”

“And,” she began to laugh uncomfortably and tried to move away from him, embarrassed, but he let her slide away only so far as to catch her fingers in his own, threading them together with light touches.

“And? Tell me!” Now he was smirking, and if there was one thing that drove her absolutely out of her mind, it was when he was so satisfied with himself as to smirk.

“No! I shall not! You will only make a jest of me!”

His eyes widened. “I have just confessed to harboring gentle inclinations towards your person that have soured my mood for hundreds of years and you worry you are showing your delicate underbelly?!” He sounded incredulous, which only made her want to laugh.

“You are well aware of your fine… Sindarin bone structure.”

“Ah, so it is my bone structure you are so fond of? My lineage indeed has been blessed by the Eldar,” he began, leaning away from her to look at himself in the mirror behind her, tilting his head at odd angles so as to get the best reflection.

“My lust is much divorced from any affections I have for your personality, to be sure,” she laughed, and abruptly stopped, looking frightened. “I-I-I am sorry, my-”

He pressed his lips to hers and effectively silenced her, though it did not last long.

“Please do not call me that in here,” he whispered, forehead touching hers. “Out there, we must still be king and captain, but here I would have us be as equals. That is, if you wish it?”

“Thranduil,” the word had to be forced from her throat, it was foreign on the best of days, and now, in this moment, it felt particularly strange.

“Tauriel?”

“How is this not a betrayal of your wife? Of your son?”

“I have given it much thought, I promise you,” he leaned away slightly, and one hand came up to her jaw, holding her gently in his large, strong hands, his thumb stroking softly against the curve of her cheek. “I think it is rare that we outlive our mates by so long. It is not to say I can ever forget her, nor that she will not always have a place in my heart, my mind, my very soul. Our feas were joined before we wed, and her death did take a part of me with it. But as time teaches one to walk on one leg, or see with but one eye, so does what is left of a soul must seek a partner, a match, to soothe and feel a belonging.” He paused, looking down for a moment, thoughtful. “It is still difficult to consider that we had so little time together.”

She nodded, her mind wandering to the mere weeks of total acquaintance with the young dwarf, dark-eyed and dark-haired - the opposite of the elf before her in every possible way. Except, not. He was stubborn, he cared deeply, and he put others before himself. All these things were true of Thranduil, though it was much harder to discern. He was not open the way Kili had been. That openness had been strange to her, and it had drawn her to him in a way she still could not explain if asked.

“On that mountain, seeing you laid low by the weight of loss, I realized that what I felt was just as real as what you were feeling for Kili. I felt crushed by guilt - not only for how I treated you, belittled you, but that I did so in retaliation, in an effort to prove that my own feelings were just as false.” He continued to trace her hairline, sweeping small strands of hair from her face, and she watched him - he never met her eyes, seemingly unable to look at her with his piercing gaze when he was so vulnerable. His voice was soothing - even when he was angry, there was a comfort to it - an authority that seemed to confirm that he held no fears or doubts.

“And you said nothing,” she offered softly.

“No. You were grieving. Even at my worst, I could not begrudge another their grief. I have been using my own as an excuse for my behaviors for millenia.” He finally put his hands on her face and looked down at her, meeting her eyes for what felt like the first time, and the weight of that gaze sent a shiver through her. It always did, it always felt… important. But never more important than right now.

“I am sorry for the things I have said and done that have hurt you.”

She smiled a little before that passion he claimed to so respect peeked from behind her eyes. “And for all the times you have chastised me?”

A full smile broke across his face, changing his eyes, his brows, his forehead, his lips. “No. You deserved every single one.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “I am quite…”

“Stubborn?”

She laughed softly and pushed against his chest. “Speak for yourself!” He pulled her into him again as she chuckled. She took a deep breath of him - woodsy tea, new bark, sharp lavender, tart currants, and a warmth that she did not expect. His coldness was in his eyes, his posture, his gestures, his words - but held close to him, he was ever so warm.

“What happens now?” she asked, closing her eyes against his answer - bracing her heart for what must surely come next. It was one thing to admit they felt something for each other. It was quite another to act on it.

He sighed, making her head against him rise and fall. “Stay with me, tonight?”

She pulled back, eyebrows raised, looking at him incredulously. “I will not be a concubine, even to a king.”

He looked startled. “What? No, where would you get that idea?”

She grimaced awkwardly. “Physical… relations, only for all this to be forgotten tomorrow.”

She watched his cheeks flush deeply. “I would not…” he cleared his throat. “I would not impose myself upon your body,” he seemed embarrassed and mildly insulted that she would even suggest such a thing. “I merely hoped to keep you close in my slumber - a shared comfort.”

“Oh,” she frowned, confused.

He licked his lips. “I have not... “ he cleared his throat, “since the death of my wife.”

Her eyes widened. “Not… once? Not even…?” The idea felt foreign - she knew the distance between their ages was great, but it had not occurred to her that he would not have taken lovers, at least of a physical nature, in the intervening three thousand years. She laughed, a forced, uncomfortable sound, and bit her lower lip, embarrassed as well. “It seems there is a… cultural shift that has taken place at… some… well. I only mean…” She pressed her lips together, looking away from him, feeling quite out of place trying to explain that physical relations were not viewed the same way as they were when perhaps he was a young elf.

“Ah,” he made the sound with a quick inhale after it, and she risked a glance at his face. He looked… concerned? He swallowed hard. “I… well. We shall… discuss that, it seems. For now,” he tried to bring them back to the moment before the relations of a husband and wife entered the conversation. “I only seek your warmth. It has been many years since I shared a sleeping space with another,” he trailed off.

“I will keep myself appropriately covered,” she teased, and he frowned at her.

“I am no youth, unable to control my impulses!”

“Certainly not,” she grinned, and began pulling away from him, backing towards the small table, and setting her foot on the chair, turning away from him to unlace her boots, and showcasing one of her finest qualities. She heard him clear his throat and the sound of him turning away towards the other side of the chamber and smiled to herself. Of all the things she might have imagined, “fun to tease him” had never even entered her mind, and she found she might like that best of all.

Stripped to her tunic, she carefully folded all her clothes on the chair, set her boots perpendicular, and turned to see him clad in a different kind of tunic - one yet made of fine silk, but meant for sleeping in. Just above the edge of the bed where he stood she could see the curve of the back of his knee, and the sight had never aroused her before, but suddenly, it seemed that she had been given permission to free all her most base impulses. She watched him watch her as she approached the other side of the bed, and helped him pull the thick blankets down, that they might both slide between them. She was used to a soldier’s lot, and that of a peasant before that. Elven peasants may have finer things than moral ones, but the softness of the silk against her skin made her shiver briefly.

“Cold?” He asked, pulling the blankets up with one hand, and he opened them a bit, laying on his side. “Come, I shall warm you.” There was no innuendo in his voice, and thoughts swirled in her head, most of them rather untoward daydreams now pierced by reality - it seemed unlikely he would sweep her up in his arms, pressing her against a wall, risking being caught as he set his teeth against her neck, his thigh between her… She shook her head again and smiled, and allowed him to gather her into his arms.

He snuffed the lights with a wave of his hand, a small magic easy for the Sindarin, but one which took practice for the Sylvan.

“Relax,  _ hiril vuin.  _ I will not let your sleep be disturbed.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, and her eyes slid shut, her dreams blissfully unremarkable.

Many hours later, he woke slowly - feeling more rested than he had in… centuries. Inhaling deeply, his eyes flew open, pinpointing the strange smell first, and then, stranger still, a hand. A hand on his abdomen. Breath exhaled against his ribs. He stilled at first, and then smiled, looking down at hair the color of autumn leaves gently mixed with his white-blond. He closed his eyes and exhaled, seeking but a few more moments of peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Sindarin Words/Phrases:  
> mellon nîn - my friend  
> Elvelloneth - young friend  
> hervess - wife  
> goheno, mellon nîn - forgive me, my friend  
> Peditham hi sui vellyn? - may we speak as friends?  
> Pedin i phith in aníron, a nin ú-cheniathog - I can say what I wish and you would not understand me  
> hiril vuin - my lady/beloved lady  
> **most translations pulled from google and confirmed against Sindarin sources, many pulled from arwen-undomiel [dot] com - I don't speak Sindarin, but wow did I learn a lot about why it DEFINITELY IS NOT Quenya in writing this. Sorry JRRT.**


End file.
